


Of Wolf And Raven

by Einar_Fox



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2018-07-16 20:33:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7283701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Einar_Fox/pseuds/Einar_Fox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Geralt of Rivia had always been a mystery to many, an enticement, and that appeal snares yet another close to him.  Unlikely to be sure, is their relationship to be, or merely the stuff of fantasy?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One - Korvin

**Author's Note:**

> ***WIP - More to Come! Might be slow going, but I do plan to complete it!***  
> ***Feedback is ALWAYS appreciated! Authors and Artists LIVE of Feedback! FEED Me!***  
> ***ENJOY!***

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Korvin's POV.

He had forgotten how easy it was, high up in the tallest ramparts of Kaer Morhen, to lose one's self to memory, to the soft, insistent murmurings of the past, the shades and recallations of what once had been, or perhaps, never could be. The Keep was funny that way, a home that was not truly a home, a place of learning and teaching, of both life, and far too often, death. Coming here was bittersweet, and in truth, he tried to avoid it, though sometimes its pull was far too insistent. It was not the place of his birth, nor was it even the place he had grown from babe to youth, but it was, in all ways, the place he had grown the most.

Korvin Gynvaeldhu parted his lips and loosed a breath, his golden-eyed gaze following the fleeting cloud that emerged as it was swept away by the frigid winds now whipping over the Keep. It was mid-winter now, and that, perhaps more than any other factor, had been what had pushed him to come here now. Rarely did he stay in local inns, vastly preferring the privacy of his own, hand-made shelters out in the wilds, but he had to admit, he craved the warmth offered to him here, warmth of both walls and fires, and of comraderie. Here his brothers welcomed him. Here there were no stares, no vicious whisperings behind his back. Here he was no 'devil', he was merely, 'brother'.

A particularly strong gust of winter wind tore some of the strands of hair free from within his dark furs and lashed them across his face, prompting a soft grunt of annoyance. Gloved fingers lifted and quickly swept the ebony strands back behind the faint point of one pale ear and then retreated back within the warmth of his thick coverings. Dark wolf furs hung about his shoulders, in addition to his heavy coat. Up here, not a single coat, nor blanket or fur, was enough protection from the wind, layers were needed, unless you planned to freeze your lesser bits from your body. He tugged at one fur, wrapping it more firmly about his body, before leaning back and settling deeper into the corner of his little niche.

Laughter tickled at his ears, and for a moment, his gaze was stolen from the midnight, star-strewn sky above to glance downward, over the wall, toward the courtyard. A grand fire was already blazing, its welcomed heat surrounded by his brothers, each similarly wrapped in furs as they enjoyed mead and conversation. He felt a brief pang and glanced away, seeking the stars once more.

"Is there a reason you're up here, freezing your balls off, instead of down around the fires with the rest of us?"

The low, aged voice cut through his thoughts, and in that instant, every fiber of his body instinctively went rigid, before the familiarity of that voice eased him into calm once more. He cursed under his breath, dark brows knitting faintly as he cast a glare toward the source of that voice, the expression lacked venom however, for he could not truly be upset with the man. "One day I'll reason how you manage to do that, Old Man...", he growled softly, lips twitching with a soft smirk when he used the playful insult. "...all of my senses, yet you slip past them without issue. I'm fortunate that you are friend, not foe, or I'd have been dead decades ago.".

Vesemir chuckled at that, grey hair swept in the wind as he shook his head, gazing down at his student in the star-lit darkness. "If you manage to reach my age, then aye, maybe you'll figure it out. Until then, get used to it.... and stop dodging my question." He tilted his head, keen, raptor like eyes fastened on the seated man. "You're home now, Korvin, and while I can agree, 'to each man his own', there's little need for you to enforce your solitude here. Come. Eat. Have a drink and share the warmth of the fires. Yours isn't the only homecoming, you know. Geralt arrives on tomorrow's eve..."

Korvin's lips thinned briefly, the slits of his pupils constricting, a fact which he concealed as he lifted a gloved hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose. A thousand excuses raced through his mind as he tried to find one that Vesemir would not see right through, and he bought himself a bit more time by voicing a low groan and pushing himself to his feet. Shuddering, he shook his furs, ridding them of some of the faint snow coat that had settled, thanks to the winds, then finally, he turned to face his mentor and teacher. "A drink, perhaps two... but I doubt that I'll be staying long enough to share in another homecoming. There's a Hunt two days hence--...."

The elder Witcher snorted a sound and lifted a hand, commanding Korvin's silence with naught more than that gesture. "You're less than a day returned from a Hunt. Lambert is already on the trail of the Hunt you speak of, and he has no need of aid." He shook his head and pointed at Korvin, then jerked his head in the direction of the courtyard. "Go. Warm yourself. Stubborn as the day you first entered these walls. You'll stay, a few weeks at least, until the worst of this winter passes. If a Witcher falls to a Hunt, that's one thing, but falling to frostbite is pure horse-shit." He smirked at that and then turned, already making his way back toward the ladder he had climbed to reach Korvin's perch, clearly expecting the younger Witcher to follow. "Besides... Geralt already knows that you're here. It's been years since you've seen each other and we all tire of learning how the others are doing through word of mouth.".

A shudder traced Korvin's spine then and his shoulders slumped in mild defeat. Geralt knew he was here. There would be no avoiding it then. Certainly not now, not after Vesemir's proclamation. Truly, he could leave, if he desired, be gone at first light, but he knew that the next time he returned, he would never hear the end of it. Breathing out a sigh, he nodded, even though he knew the other man could not see the gesture. "Perhaps I should start calling you 'old woman', as much as you nag and worry about our well being..." He countered, a mixture of good-natured tease and genuine frustration. He would make his escape from here if he could, but that clearly was not going to be an option this time.

As he slid down the ladder after Vesemir, his heavy boots hit the platform at the bottom with a solid thud, and the sound resounded through him, sparking a memory from decades past.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_It was probably the stupidest decision he had ever, in his few, sixteen years of life, let fly from from his brain into action. Pick-pocketing a Witcher? What in the Hells had he been drinking? Yet at the time it had seemed a brilliant scheme! Working The Bits of Novigrad had become far too dull, with his skill, his youthful dexterity, swiping crowns, or the odd bit of jewelry was mere play. He hardly wanted for the substance to buy food or drink, and as the years had passed, it had become more sport than anything. What he did not use he gave to the other urchins, ones less skilled, children without parents, those too ill to fend for themselves. They praised him, but he merely scoffed at their gratitude and warned them that they needed to learn to care for themselves. What would they do if the guard eventually caught up with him? It was not truly a worry, but the weak threat was potent enough, and those that benefited from his charity would quickly scurry from his presence, grateful to have enough wealth to buy just one more meal. He was not cruel, not really, he just knew all too well that true kindness was seen as weakness, and there was no room for weakness in The Bits._

_The silver-haired Witcher had merely been a challenge. He had stolen from every nobleman and trader, lifted crowns straight from the pockets of guards, but a Witcher? Ah, that would be a triumph all its own! A pity he had failed, and miserably so. The moment his pale, deft little fingers had slid along the seam of the Witcher's pocket, he was snatched up, a vice-like grip fastening about his wrist and for the first time, he saw those rumored, golden eyes up close. Oh, how they glared, pupils narrowed to the ghost of a slit, and that color consumed every ounce of his attention. But then surprise dawned on the face of his would-be mark, and the grip about his wrist loosened.  
He should have run then, wrenched his arm free and bolted, perhaps he might have escaped, though such a possibility seemed doubtful, but young Korvin was struck dumb on the spot, his lean body frozen as he gazed into the face of the Witcher._

_Never before had he believed in Gods or higher powers, but staring into that strong, handsome face, he believed in all of it. Hair, silver like moon-lit snow, skin warmed by the sun, scarred by battle, stubbled jaw strong, as though chisled from stone. It did not even occur to him that he had lifted his free hand until fingertips ghosted across the silver hairs that decorated that jaw, and then his world was shaken. That hand was snatched by the Witcher's other and he was driven back, his shoulders connecting with the nearby wall hard enough to blow the breath from him, a surprised uttering of pain and confusion slipping past his lips as he was broken from his trance._

_"Just what the Hell do you think you're doing?" The Witcher growled, his voice low, gravely, as though he had stolen it from a wolf, brow tight with annoyance as he glared at the young man in his grasp._

_"Nothin'!" Korvin retorted, his own features tight as he began to struggle, sure now that he was in deep, and truly unsure of whether or not this was a situation he could escape. "Let me go!" He kicked at his captor, but the Witcher was fast, faster than anyone he had ever seen, shifting so as to not catch that flailing limb some where vital. He pressed in then, turning to pin his hip against Korvin's so that no more such attempts at attacks could be effectively made._

_"'Nothing' sure looked a Hell of a lot like trying to pick my pocket." The Witcher replied, his gaze shifting over the young man's features, his eyes, his hair, his ears, where they lingered for a moment, before gliding back to the boy's gaze. "Your elven, at least in part... What are you doing here? Trying to pick your way through -my- crowns?" It was curious to him, and while he still held the young man firmly, it was clear that his intent was not to harm._

_Elven. Ah, yes, it was true that at least part of his blood-line hailed from their kind, but how, or where, Korvin had no idea. His father, a useless drunk, had died years before, and had never told him an ounce about his past or family. If there was Elf in his veins, it was of no use to him now, none claimed him, none wanted to, more Human than anything else, what reason would there be for anyone to want him._

_"What's it to you, -Witcher-...?" Korvin snapped, all fire and spirit, still struggling to free himself, even though both men now knew it to be pointless. There would be no escape for him, not until his captor willed it. "You goin' t'throw me to the guard?" He laughed in the Witcher's face, grinning like a fiend. "You'd be doin' them a favour. Takes a Witcher t'catch me. Oh, yeah, they'd probably even give you a few crowns!"._

_The Witcher's lips thinned to a thoughtful line and for a moment, those golden eyes diverted, glancing away toward the nearest guard post. "Not a bad idea. But I doubt they'd give me more than a crown for your scrawny ass..." He retorted, a smirk tugging at his lips as he looked back at the young man. "What if I have a better idea... be willing to hear me out?"._

_That made him blink, his struggling slowing abruptly, then stopping altogether. "Hear you out...?", his mind raced, wondering what in the world a man like this might want with a ... oh... His features tightened in anger and he ripped a hand free of the Witcher's grasp, taking advantage of his momentary lapse to swing a fist directly at that smug, handsome face. "Pervert!" He yelled, fury coursing through his veins. "Let me go!"._

_The surprise that crossed his captor's features in that moment was positively priceless, and he very nearly took that punch to the face, recovering from his shock just quickly enough to snatch Korvin's fist from the air and once more pin the young man's arm back against the wall. "Hey! Stop it! Relax, kid!" His voice was a harsh, yet oddly soft, whisper now, tone low as he glanced away, to see if anyone had heard Korvin's panciked cry. "It's not like -that-. Shit, kid..." He shook his head and cursed under his breath before taking a small step back, giving Korvin some room, despite the hold he still had on him. "You're fast, clever... I was going to suggest that you come with me, back to Kaer Morhen. Unless you're too scared to find out if you might survive Witcher training.". That said, he released Korvin and took another step back, making it clear now that the choice lay in his hands alone. Run. Escape. Vanish back into the dregs of Novigrad... or try his hand at a new future._

_Korvin just stared at him for a long moment, stunned and speechless. Him? A Witcher? Of all the things that this man might have proposed, this would have been beyond the last that he would have expected._

_His mouth worked briefly, mind racing to come up with an answer, but the only thing he could come up with was, "Who the Hell are you?"._

_The Witcher smirked then, amusement in his features, a silent laugh that seemed to reach all the way to those golden eyes as he crossed his arms over his chest and shifted his weight. "Name's Geralt of Rivia. Who the Hell are you?"._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"The Hells got you grinning?".

The question tore him from his reverie, and in an instant, his grin cooled, fading to a faint smile as he shook his head, attempting to dismiss the inquiry. "A memory. Nothing more." Korvin replied, starting forward, brushing past Vesemir on his way down the angled ramp that would lead them to the courtyard below. "I need a drink, since you've dragged me from my perch... Cold as hell out here in the open." He groused openly now, doing his best to direct their conversation away from any further lines of questioning. His strides were long, befitting his height, which he proudly recalled from the last time they had seen each other, was an inch or two taller than Geralt. What faint hints of Elven lineage did exist in him had not taken a toll on his height, or his strength. He possessed the height and build of a pureblooded human, but it was his grace, his agility, the faint, arching points of his ears, that betrayed his other blood.

It had worked to his advantage in the end. While the Trial of Grasses had been hard for him, his body had later accepted the changes with vigor. He could not claim to be anywhere nearly as unique as Geralt, but his speed surpassed that of the typical Witcher. His talent with spellcasting was uncanny, and though he did not excel with fire, he had exceptional skill with ice and water, with any magic that dealt with stealth and the aether that bled between the worlds. It was for these reasons that he prefered to Hunt at night, using shadow to his advantage, stealth his constant companion. He had long ago earned the nickname, 'Gynvaerdhu', an Elven name which meant, 'Black Ice', in the Human tongue. His coloring and Hunting habits, skills in stealth, all lent to this name.

Behind him, Vesemir snorted another soft, knowing sound. "Prickley as the backside of a wyvern... Tell me; Do you choose not to stay in the villages, or have they exiled you due to your delightful personality?", the elder questioned as they made their way down from the heights of Kaer Morhen. "A Witcher's never truly welcome unless there's some thing in need of killing, but some times I wonder if they wouldn't prefer the creature to you.". He cast a sidelong glance at Korvin and laughed aloud at the half-hearted, withering glare that he received in return.

"If you ever get bored training Witchers, I'm sure you'd have a thrilling career as a court fool off in Novigrad." Korvin griped, hiding his smile behind the collar of his furs. It was all said in good fun, he knew. Over the years his bretheren had all become accustomed to his desire for privacy, and the way he often used his acerbic personality to secure that solitude. Here within the walls of their 'home', however, it was a moot point. Odd as they might all seem to outsiders, in a way, this was Family, and by far the best family that Korvin had ever known. Blood meant little to him, but Oath and Loyalty, that meant all.

"I'll die a Witcher's death on the Hunt before that happens." Vesemir shot back, chuckling to himself as he headed for one of the tables in the courtyard, fetching a skin of mead and turning to offer it to Korvin. The younger Witcher took it with a nod of gratitude, then glanced over his shoulder toward the fire and those gathered around it. 

"You said that Geralt arrives tomorrow..." Korvin ventured curiously. "How does he know I'm here?"

Vesemir arched a brow, almost a though confused by the question. "I told him. Why wouldn't I? You might have forgotten the way you found your way into our ranks, but Geralt hasn't... The two of you are peas in a pod--... Now don't look at me like that!" The elder Witcher lifted a hand and poked a finger into Korvin's chest as the younger man glared at him. "It's the truth. He knew talent when he saw it and you've never disappointed. Not for a day. He's all the reason in the world to be proud.".

Korvin huffed and turned away, wrenching the cap from the skin and lifting it to take several deep, near drowning swigs of mead. "Aye..." He recapped the skin and wiped his mouth with the back of a glove. "He's the one who brought me here, I'm not denyin' that. I'm grateful for it. But you act as though...." Trailing off, he shook his head and shot a look back at Vesemir. "It's been twenty years since the last time we've had time to talk. Twenty years."

"And you've done precious little to mend that fact!" Vesemir pointed out, cutting Korvin off before he could continue. "Every time Geralt is here, you're not. He asks about you, he asks about all of us, but you, he feels responsible...".

That drew a growl and Korvin turned, stalking away from Vesemir, and the fire, intent on returning to his perch. "I'm not his bloody 'responsibility'!", he snapped, and it felt as though even the chill of winter paled around him as he moved, frost trickling the ground at his feet. Deep down inside, he knew that he was being unreasonable, that his bitterness did not stem from Geralt's concern or curiousity about his well being and success, but from a far deeper, more resigned place. "I am well. I am strong. I have not yet found the Hunt that will take me down, Vesemir. What more does he need know?". 

"You're going to greet him!" Vesemir called after him, ignoring the rest of his remarks as he watched Korvin pause mid-step, watched the way the younger Witcher's frame tightened, hands in fists at his side before he turned, golden eyes narrowed. "Aye. You heard me. The woods have been thick with nekkers and I'll not be having any Witcher dying on our doorstep. You. You'll head out at last light tomorrow and see to it that the both of you make it back in one piece. Understood?". The conversation at the fire had gone deathly quiet, every Witcher in attendance could now hear the exchange between the two of them, and they all knew that when Vesemir took that tone, he was not to be denied.

Korvin stared at him, features tight with frustration and resignation, until finally, he gave a single nod, and a brief bow. "Yes. Of course, Vesemir. Last light. We'll be back by midnight, not a hair out of place.", he relented, knowing full well that there would be no fighting what his elder had decreed. Straightening, he locked eyes with Vesemir and for a long moment, the two merely stared at each other, as though every ounce of their frustration with the other could be expressed via that one look. Finally, Vesemir gave a small nod of his head, satisfied, and Korvin turned, snagging a second skin of mead from the table before retreating back up the ramp.

All that remained now was to get drunk, good and wasted drunk, and maybe in sleep he could find a measure of peace before the meeting to come.


	2. Chapter Two -Geralt of Rivia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt's POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***WIP - More to come! Chapter two!***  
> ***Feedback is ALWAYS appreciated!***  
> ***ENJOY!***

"Damn it, Roach...", the Witcher grumbled under his breath, words tinged with self-blaming frustration as they raked the air. It was his own fault, really. He had forgotten to buy new blinders after the last set had been ruined, (a long story to be sure), and this was the second time since nightfall that the distant screeching of a nekker had sent his mount to bolting off into the undergrowth. Finally managing to get control of his horse, he pulled them up slowly, pacing the shuddering mount along the side of the road as he leaned forward, stroking a hand down its neck. "Easy now, we're almost home.", Geralt lifted his eyes, gazing off down the darkened trail that wound its way up the mountain side. "Surprised there's this much activity so close to the Keep though. Going to have to have a word with ol' Vesemir about that, aren't we, Roach?", he murmured, knowing from experience that the calm, familiar sound of his voice would help to ease his mount's fright.

While it had been years since any manner of fiend had managed to work their way this close to Kaer Morhen, in a sense, he imagined that it was to be expected. Years and years ago, there had been far more trainees at the Keep, all the more reason for Witchers to venture out close to home, Hunting lesser monsters as a form of advanced training for their young students. But it had been decades now since any successful students had passed through their gates, a fact which Geralt regarded as both a pity and an eventuality. Few Witchers of his school remained, fewer still wished to walk a Witcher's path, and even less of those that had the desire, had the fortitude to endure it.

Korvin and Lambert had been among the last to complete their training, and while it had been several decades since those days for them both, neither had yet to train any apprentice of their own. It was no small wonder though, given their personalities. Lambert was as abrasive and arrogant as any one could possibly imagine and Korvin... well, Geralt truly had yet to put his finger on just what it was about his wayward 'discovery'. For all his talent, the skills that had helped shape him into a most impressive Witcher, the man was like ice and fog, cold enough to freeze the icicles from a glacier and as elusive as a shade in the night. The realization made a faint smirk tug at the corner of his mouth. Yennefer might like Korvin, if he could ever nail the younger Witcher down long enough for the two of them to meet. Though it had been years since Geralt had called a mutual end to his relationship with the Sorceress, they remained good friends, and he well imagined that she might approve of his choice to bring Korvin into the Witchers' fold.

Giving one final pat to Roach's neck, Geralt lightly clicked his tongue, heels gently prodding at his mount's sides to urge him forward once more. They still had several miles to go and the cold winds of the mountainside bit at his exposed skin; he had every desire in the world to find himself safe and warm behind Kaer Morhen's walls before another hour or so had passed. 

The next few hundred yards or so passed without incident, the only sounds that of the wind rustling through the thickening canopy of trees around them, and the occasional call of some, far more natural, night creature. He allowed himself to be lulled by the familiar scents and sounds, until something curious tingled at the fringes of his senses. Geralt focused then, calling on the abilities granted to him by his extensive training and mutations and reached out, searching the growth that flanked them. Warmth sparked out there in the woods to his left, a hint of heat that would be natural only to a woodland creature, deer, or bear perhaps, or a sentient being like himself. This close to Kaer Morhen, he reasoned it might be another Witcher, as they often sought each other out, an escort for one venturing to their home.

Slowing Roach to a halt, he called into the darkness. "No sense hiding. I know you're there." Curious that one Witcher would conceal themself from another, unless there was reason to. The nekkers, he imagined, could be reason enough.

Yet from to his left, that source of heat began to move and soon, a mount and rider appeared in the darkness of the trail before him, lit only by the faint scraps of moon and star light that managed to filter through the trees. The horse was as black as soot, and the rider upon it just as dark, clothed in thick furs, ebony hair streaming in a loosely bound tail from his head. Only his skin betrayed him in the darkness, pale, striking really, as the moonlight touched him, and those telling golden eyes. He looked like a wolf atop a mount, if Geralt were to be honest with himself, the way those eyes glinted in the faint light, a silent, waiting predator.

Geralt allowed a slow smile to touch his lips, and a sense of both relief and warm surprise flooded him. "Korvin. What a surprise. How'd Vesemir managed to get you to be the one to come out in the cold to fetch me?", he teased, attempting to allay any sense of friction that might exist between the two of them. For whatever the reason, Korvin had avoided him for years now, and he had yet to discover the source of the rift.

On the path ahead of him, the rider shifted faintly, heels silently touching his horse's side, prompting the animal to move forward until the other mount had been manuvered to stand alongside Geralt's own. Up close, they could see each other far better, and Korvin took that moment, eyes studying the older Witcher, as though truly seeing him for the first time in far too many years. Geralt took that moment as well, searching the younger man's features, learning the sight of him once more. He had changed, over the years, a faint scar touched along his jawline, and another, deeper, nicked his ear and trailed its way down along Korvin's neck, disappearing into the darkness of his furs. He had grown, tall, strong, touched now by countless battles, a fact which showed not only in his flesh, but in the eyes that gazed back at him.

"It's good to see you, Geralt." Korvin replied simply, his words low, soft, as though his tone was under tight control. Geralt's brow lifted at that, though he said nothing about it, only placing that fact away in his memory for later use.

"You too." He offered, his fingers reaching out to curl into Roach's mane, kneading lightly to keep this horse calm. "Nekkers are close to home. That why Vesemir sent you?"

The raven-haired Witcher nodded, his eyes tearing away from Geralt to gaze forward now, focusing on the trail that would lead them home. "Aye...", he lied, as that had not been the entirety of the reason. "Come. It's freezing out here and I'm ready to get back to my bed." Korvin nudged at his mount again, and the horse began moving, making it clear that Geralt could either keep up, or be left behind.

Spurring Roach to follow, Geralt watched Korvin's back, studying the man with idle curiousity as they picked their way back up the path. He recalled days, years past, hells, decades ago now, when Korvin had been a different creature, or so he thought, one full of spitfire and sass, willful, almost to a fault, yet also painfully eager to learn. He had hung on Geralt's every word in those days, soaked up his instruction like a sponge, performed every task that was asked of him, yet now... 

A boy had become a man, and whatever youthful fancy Korvin had held in those days had obviously vanished, frozen beneath the cold of his demeanor, like everything else from his memory. Geralt lamented it briefly, wondering if he himself had done something to drive the man into such a deep well of solitude. Whether or not he would ever discover the answers to his questions, however, remained to be seen.

Nudging Roach to move a bit faster, Geralt drew his mount alongside Korvin's and glanced over at his chilly traveling companion. If Korvin noticed the change, he made no mention of it, his eyes fixed pointedly on the trail ahead. So Geralt attempted to break the ice, literally and metaphorically.

"You've grown. Vesemir says you're doing well, successful--...." He was cut off abruptly as Korvin lifted his hand, his dark mount coming to a halt just as swiftly as that hand had risen. Geralt tugged at his own reins, drawing Roach up short as he peered quizzically at Korvin, then glanced off into the woods.

He heard the rustling in the foliage a split second before the first nekker shriek rent the stillness around them. "Shit..." The Witcher muttered, dismounting swiftly, finding his feet alongside Korvin as the two men drew their silvery blades in unison. "Got to be the same pack that's been trailing me up the mountain....", he offered to his companion, a statement that earned him an odd, reproachful glance.

"You didn't dispatch them?" Korvin hissed quietly, golden eyes searching the woods around them so intently that he missed the mildly frustrated glance cast his way by Geralt.

"No. I figured that was something that could be done when I -wasn't- freezing my ass off... There's no one up here but us, and I'm pretty sure you can handle yourself." He shifted his blade in his hands and turned, placing them back-to-back, a more defensible position against the coming attack.

"Brilliant..." Korving growled, his scathing wit tinging the edge of that word. "I'll have to remember that for next time. Why bother dispatching the monster, Geralt's got it, I'm sure it's child's play for him...", he prodded at the elder Witcher with an elbow, getting his attention in order to point off into the woods. "There.".

Geralt nodded. "I see it." He uttered the phrase of a spell, one that would shield them both, though he heard Korvin huff a soft breath as he did so. 

"I hardly require your protection." Korvin griped, and then he stepped away, toward their attackers, the words of his own spell falling almost musically from his lips. Geralt shuddered as cold rippled through the air, and for a moment, he hung back, both curious and impressed. He had heard accounts from Vesemir about Korvin's growing skill, but to see it first hand was another thing entirely.

The younger Witcher seemed to command the very chill of winter itself and that wind swept forward, fastening its hold on two of the attacking nekkers and freezing them to the spot. Impressive indeed. Korvin darted forward then, slashing at the frozen forms and they shattered like stone, the pieces of their ruined forms scattering out into the woods and over the path before them. Geralt straightened a bit, a low whistle on his lips as he watched his companion dispatch the fiends with both skill and efficiency.

Yet despite that ease, the shrieks around them ensured both Witchers that this would not be a battle so quickly won. Alongside Geralt, a pack of three leapt toward him and forced him to dance backward, flames flying from his fingertips, catching quickly to the creatures and sending their shrieks of pain out into the night. A glance toward Korvin alerted him to even more of the fiends, and he darted that way, wanting the security of a brother at his back.

They came together at once, working in tandem despite years of absence from each others lives, a testament to their training, and to the bond of brotherhood that each of them shared. No matter the time, or the argument, they were bound by oath and kinship, and would fight for one another. It was a dance they each knew all too well, a dance with fate and death, yet together, it was almost a thing of beauty. Blades slashed at fiendish flesh, the scent of blood ruined the air around them, and by the time it was over, both men were breathing hard, the sweat of battle cooling on their skins in the wintery air, bringing a chill to the heat of their fight.

Turning to glance over his shoulder, Geralt looked to Korvin, brows lifted, a silent question to see if his companion had come through the fight unscathed, as he himself had done. The younger Witcher's back was still to him, his shoulders heaving as he breathed in an attempt to calm himself after the rush of battle and Geralt reached out, one hand falling onto the dark fur that cloaked his companion. "Korvin...", he started, meaning to reassure the man.

But the shoulder he touched went rigid, Korvin's body tensing for a split second before the man spun on him, golden eyes wide and searching, his every thought laid bare in that one look. Geralt drew a breath as he gazed back at him, their eyes locked in the wake of battle, the heat of it still clinging to the air around them. Korvin's eyes betrayed him, and Geralt realized now what it was that he had seen in the younger man all of those years ago. It had been a crush then, a young man's fancy, a longing for someone older, more practiced, a fantasy, but now, it was far more. Korvin's golden eyes held concern, they held fear, that perhaps Geralt had been injured, and they held desire, a rush of emotion spurred by fire of battle coursing through their veins. In that moment, Geralt understood.

Driven by that same battle-heat, Geralt reached out, snagging Korvin by the back of the neck and drew him swiftly in, his mouth crashing over the younger man's, curious and quietly questioning. If Korvin desired him, who was he to say no? Geralt had long ago learned that life was short, a -Witchers- life was short, and there was absolutely no reason to deny a moment that presented itself. A brief, startled grunt fled Korvin, his shock apparent in the way his frame went rigid, his lips motionless against Geralt's, leaving the elder Witcher to question his instincts. He could have sworn...

Suddenly he was shoved back, startled by the sound of Korvin's blade clattering to the ground, his gaze following the blade quickly before darting back up to stare at the man before him. He expected fury, but what he got was confusion, a man's face filled with a thousand questions. Korvin stared at him, stunned silence stretching between them for a single, agonizing moment, broken only as the raven-haired Witcher steeled himself. Intent filled his features and he stalked foward, seizing hold of Geralt and sealing their mouths together. His kiss was rough, desperate and demanding, and Geralt yeilded to it, welcomed it, encouraged it as he tangled one hand in that dark hair, allowing himself to be driven back until they collided with the nearest tree. "Yess...", he hissed softly, claiming another kiss and seeking to sneak a hand beneath the thick, dark coat of furs that concealed Korvin's body from him.

That utterance, however, seemed to break Korvin from whatever battle or lust driven frenzy that had gripped him. He paused, their faces scant inches apart, eyes wide, their breath a heated cloud of steam in the frigid air, and then he shoved himself away, turning his back to Geralt, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides as he struggled to compose himself.

Confused, Geralt lifted a hand, gloved fingers touching his lips, only to pull them away and note a faint stain of blood on them. The discovery drew a faint huff of a laugh, both surprised and amused by just how rough their embrace had been. Is that what it was? Had Korvin gotten spooked once he realized how intense it had been? "Hey..." Geralt moved to reach out, only to have the other man dodge his touch, putting ever more space between them. His brow furrowed and he let his hand drop. "Korvin?".

Golden eyes rose, his gaze, those pale features half concealed as the wind whipped his hair across his face, but for a moment, Geralt saw the conflict, want and pain, flit through those eyes. Korvin turned then, fetched his sword without a word and slid it back into its scabbard as he swung himself back up onto his horse.

He offered no look back at Geralt, nothing more than a simple statement. "You know the way home." And with that, he was gone, spurring his horse so quickly that the beast lept forward with a small sound of protest, leaving Geralt alone in the cold, his confusion as thick as the scent of foul blood around him.

For the life of him, for all the knowledge and experience his years had earned him, Geralt knew not a thing that could explain to him what had just passed between them.


	3. Chapter Three - Fight or Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When it all comes undone, do you stay, or do you run?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the long, long, LONG hiatus. Life, as always, is life. Here's to picking up where we left off.  
> ***WIP - More to come! Chapter Three!***  
> ***Feedback is ALWAYS appreciated!***  
> ***ENJOY!***

Wind tore at Korvin as his mount careened through the brush, his flight so sudden and careless that a branch slapped at his face in passing, scoring a stinging mark to his cheek. His blood flowed freely from it, yet he gave the injury no thought at all, heedless of the heated crimson that rapidly froze in place. He felt unhinged, shattered, as out of control as his wild ride, his emotions in chaos, his painstakingly cultivated control ripped from him, unleashing his power as a raw and reckless thing. Frost chilled the blood to his cheek and to the furs where it had dripped, icy fingers trailing their way down his clothing, down the sides of his ebony stallion, a fact which made the beast shudder and nearly shriek beneath him, the hoof prints left behind them freezing into the ground in the most unnatural of ways.

And yet it all escaped him. 

He was as blind to his actions as he was to the path before him. The darkness of night around him seemed all consuming, the cold of winter, a fearsome bite which should have threatened to steal the breath from his lungs, felt like a summer's breeze compared to the ice in his heart.

What had he done?

The question raced through his panicked mind and for the first moment since he had kicked his mount into flight, he drew a breath, rough and ragged, and the sound of it, the broken, pathetic gasping of desperation lit fury in his breast. 

What had he done??

The walls of Kaer Morhen rose before him far more swiftly than he anticipated and all that kept him from driving his mount breakneck into them was the fact that the massive gates swung wide, his return anticipated by those within.

Their return, not his. They were anticipated. Yet he returned alone.

There was shouting, of that much he was certain as he yanked on the reins, drawing his mount up short in a shower of heated froth and crackling frost, dismounting before the horse had even the time to come to a complete stop. His boots hit the snow and he slipped, his vision blurring for a breath, a knee skidding on the cold ground before he caught his weight with his hands and rose swiftly back to his feet. A voice cried his name and his head whipped around, seeking the source, only to see now that he was surrounded, his brethren on all sides, confusion and concern painting their features as they stared at him in open shock.

"Korvin!?" That voice came again and golden eyes snapped toward its owner, fixing on the aged man, no, Vesemir. Korvin gulped in another breath and took a step back, his features hardening. "Korvin? What in the Hells...? What happened?" The elder Witcher's gaze flicked to the blood painting the pale Witcher's cheek and he took a step forward, hands outstretched, like one seeking to soothe a skittish colt. "Where's Geralt?"

Geralt...

The breath blew from Korvin's lungs and he turned, bolting from the presence of Vesemir and the other Witchers as he tore across the snowy courtyard toward his sanctuary atop the ramparts. He had to leave, to collect his meager belongings and flee this place. He had minutes, -minutes- at best, before Geralt caught up with him! Before he was trapped... Scaling the ladder like a man possessed, Korvin disappeared into the darkness of the tower, leaving those below to stare after him, speechless, utterly at a loss as they looked first to each other, then to Vesemir.

The elder Witcher's shock had faded, his wrinkled features smoothing over into an expression which betrayed nothing as he stared up the ladder after Korvin. He remained that way for only a moment before turning to the others and snapping briefly. "Enough! See to the fires, light the beacons, Geralt knows the way, but no sense making him go at it blind." He nodded back toward the gates and, after only a moment's hesitation, the others nodded and moved quickly to do as they were directed. Within minutes, brilliant fires burned atop either side of the Keep's gates and Vesemir stood before them, staring out into the darkness of the surrounding forest, waiting.

His wait was not long, the distant thudding of hooves beating the snowy path soon trickled to his ears, and mere seconds after that, a second rider of the night burst into view. The golden eyes that greeted Vesemir were filled with a mixture of emotions, confusion, irritation, demanding.

Geralt drew Roach to a stop before the other Witcher, offering a small nod of thanks to those around them as the gates to the Keep were pulled shut once more and the silver haired Witcher slid from his mount's back. Gently smoothing a hand down the horse's neck, he said nothing as Vesemir came to his side, the older Witcher reaching out to take the reins from his pupil. For a moment, a long, silent moment, the two simply stared at each other, golden eyes locked in a conversation of sorts, sharing more information than mere words ever could. Vesemir's lips parted, a soft cloud of breath escaping them as he sighed, head shaking ever so slightly.

"Where is he?" Came Geralt's demand. The words were simple, tight, his tone laced with all of the emotions that danced behind golden eyes and Vesemir's gaze locked to his once more. Geralt's brow tightened further, jaw clenching as he repeated the question. "Vesemir.... Where--...."

"You know where." Vesemir interrupted, yet when Geralt shifted as though to pursue the ebony haired Witcher that had departed him in such an abrupt fashion, the older Witcher's hand shot out, seizing him by the strap of his scabbard. "Tread lightly." He warned, his expression cracking briefly, betraying the concern he felt. "Do not let tonight widen the rift."

The words drew Geralt up short, his own features transforming, the tightness in his brow softening as he reached up a hand to take hold of Vesemir's wrist and gently remove it from his person. "No promises, Vesemir.... I'm going blind on this one. I'll do my best, but I can't control what he does." The statement brought a faint huff of breath to Vesemir's lips as he let his hand fall away and shook his head once more. 

"That was always the problem with the two of you, even when you taught him. He always found his way through... but I swear, sometimes he only did so to spite you." Vesemir took a step back, turning his attention toward Geralt's mount and jerking his head off toward Korvin's tower. "See to the lad... but don't break what you can't fix."

Geralt grunted, a silvery brow arching briefly as he peered at Vesemir. "What I can't fix?" He huffed a sigh of annoyance and shook his head, rolling his shoulders and stretching his neck as though he could purge some of his tension before the obvious confrontation to come. "And he's not a lad..." He lifted a hand, fingertips touching the faint cut on his lip, smirking at the soft sting. "Not anymore...." That said, he started away from Vesemir, his step firm, unafraid, determined. How many a Hunt had he faced without fear? How many beasts, or demons, or....whatever, had he driven from this world with blade and bow and sign? This was no different, at least, that was what he told himself as he set about climbing the frozen ladder that would take him up into the darkened tower. 

As he reached the top of the ladder and peered over the stone sill into the blackness beyond, his brow furrowed briefly, the distant light of the fires below catching his golden eyes, enabling him to pierce the shadows with ease. Amused annoyance replaced tension as he heaved himself over the wall and landed on cold floorboards with nary a sound. "You must have lost your senses on the ride back, to think you could hide from me.... here, or anywhere else." He lifted his chin, silver locks caught briefly by a gust of wind as his hunter's gaze latched unerringly on the tall, shrouded figure frozen across the small room from him.

Korvin's blood rushed in his veins, the pounding of his heart driving it so desperately that all he could hear was the roar of it in his ears, all but drowning out the teasing rebuke. The humor did little to influence his demeanor however, muscles as rigid as iron, his own, brilliantly golden eyes catching fire in the darkness as they stared back at Geralt, unblinking, unmoving. "Being able to find me here is a child's victory, Geralt...." The dark haired Witcher growled out, Geralt's name passing his teeth, tainted with emotion as raw as their kiss had been. "...Move. I have business elsewhere." He made to step forward, yet his mentor was faster, shifting to block his path with such precision that the two of them nearly collided in the small space. Korvin's golden eyes practically blazed with incredulous anger, perfect white teeth bared in fury as he hissed at the other man. "Do not bar my way, Geralt... Gods..." His voice shivered briefly and rough with the stress of all that had unfolded, Korvin wrestled visibly with himself, fighting down panic, embracing anger instead of the shame and pain that threatened to consume him. 

Sensing the struggle within his once student, Geralt lifted his hands, a soothing gesture, though he did not back down, did not move to allow for Korvin's desperate escape. He merely waited, allowing the silence to stretch for a few breaths before speaking once more. "You're bleeding." It seemed safer, in that moment, to address the obvious, well, the less obvious of the two wyverns in the room. Korvin merely blinked at him, startled and confused as he lifted a hand to swipe at the drying blood on his cheek. Staring at the stain on his glove, he stepped back a pace, the packed satchel falling from his shoulder to thud limply to the floor at his side. Despite his desire to step forward, Geralt held his ground, allowing his pupil a moment to collect himself before breaking the stillness with his words. "Why'd you run? I've never seen you run...." His voice was calm, quiet, that wolf's purr rumbling warmly through the space between them, and before him Korvin visibly shuddered, his eyes falling shut, blood stained hand clenching at his side.

"Why?" The word left Korvin's tongue, tinged by a broken, bitter hint of laughter. "Gods, how cruel your will for me....", he murmured under his breath, lashes lifting as he gazed at the ground between them, staring at it blindly before finally steeling his will and dragging his eyes to lock onto Geralt's. "What would you have of me, Master Geralt?" He growled, his shoulders rising, settling firm and defiant. "Confessions? Apologies? Should I plead for your forgiveness....?" He advanced then, his power whipping up briefly around them, the temperature atop the tower dropping as the floor boards beneath their feet creaked in protest to the rapid change. "I... am a fool, Geralt, as are you for ever taking me from Novigrad...." His eyes flicked downward, pupils constricting as his vision settled on the mark their clashing teeth had scored on his mentor's lower lip, the harsh, inescapable evidence of his one moment of weakness. Korvin hissed a curse under his breath and tore his gaze away, an inhale of frigid air shuddering softly in his lungs. "I have faced my weakness enough for one night.... let me take my leave." He requested this time, as though his desire reduced him. No longer Geralt's brother, no longer a sword at his back, no longer his equal. He was but a student again, requesting leave from someone so far above him that they might as well be the Moon.

Warm, calloused fingers threading their way through his ebony hair and along the delicate point of one ear drew his gaze back to Geralt so swiftly that for a breath, he felt dizzy, his equilibrium scattered by the sudden, unexpected and painfully gentle touch. Golden eyes met golden and Geralt had to suppress the faint laugh that threatened to spill from his lips as he noted the genuine shock of emotion that played itself through Korvin's eyes. Slowly, he shook his head, taking full advantage of the way his touch had stilled the other man, his thumb sweeping slowly along the curve and point of the single, pale ear he carressed. It was a selfish moment, perhaps, but one he could not help but admit he had long considered. What must Korvin's skin feel like? So pale and perfect, even with all the scars he now bore. What must that midnight fall of hair smell like? He inhaled briefly, trying to sort the scents of Korvin out from those of the tower and Keep around them. 

But he was growing distracted from his purpose.

Licking his lips, tasting Korvin's frost upon them, he spoke, slowly, clearly, so that there would be no mistaking of his meaning.

"If I move, and you leave, know that it'll be your will, Korvin... not mine." He let his once-student's name fall from his lips, warmed with the memory of their kiss, desperate and ill fated though it seemed to have been. "I taught you to fight, not to run. Stay. That's what I want. Plain and simple, Korvin. Never bullshitted you before... I'm not starting now." That said, he took a step to the side, his fingers falling free of his student's hair as he cleared the way for the other man's retreat. 

Korvin stood, rivetted in place, as though his own magics had gripped him, frozen in time in the vortex of his shock. Geralt's touch stirred him, soothed him, broke and remade him all at once, his body trembling, trapped in a swirl of conflicting emotions so potent that when his lips parted, all that escaped was a quiet quiver of air. He wanted this, Gods knew, it was all he had ever desired for the last twenty-four years, yet his mind and heart struggled to accept the reality of this chance. For decades he had silently lamented a love that could never be and now, only now, did the gates to such a paradise seem to mysteriously crack open to him. 

Shifting his eyes ever so slowly, as though Geralt might vanish if he moved too quickly, Korvin gazed upon his mentor and his resolve to suffer in silence wavered to the core. "Geralt....", The utterance was barely a whisper, raw and vulnerable in ways that he had prayed to avoid for an eternity. "...we are Witchers." 

A rush of wind took the tower, stirring up the settled snow and ice so swiftly that Geralt had to throw up a hand to shield his eyes. When the gust passed and the silver haired Witcher focused on the darkness within the tower once more.... Korvin was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hate me for the ending, it's not over yet, far, far from it.  
> Korvin's not getting off that easy, literally or metaphorically.  
> Excuse any spelling errors, I think I got them all, but who knows.  
> As always, feedback and comments are most welcome and definitely encouraged!  
> <3 <3 <3


End file.
